I’m poet Guy Farmer and I love writing contemporary free verse poems about human beings in all their splendor and folly.
I love connecting with professionals who enjoy contemporary free verse poetry.
Emotional, raw, and deeply personal, ‘Unconventional Being’ is a powerful poetry collection about the splendor and folly of being human.
Although he never
Noticed it himself,
It was clear
To everyone else
That he was strikingly
Adept at making the
Important people in
His life feel horrible.
No error too small
To point out,
No advantage too
Preposterous to duel for.
A hug withheld,
A judgment rendered,
The subliminal erosion of
An already fragile self.
Constant, insistent perseverance
In the face of crushing odds,
Head down in defiant opposition to
Forces that contort dreams.
One laborious step after another,
Unfailing determination and
Purity of purpose align.
Things predestined appear.
Once in a while,
Leave the lights and excitement,
Take the obligatory trip
To a sad town where
Sad people tell sad stories about
Things that never happened.
Beautiful refined people
Redolent with art and culture,
Masters of finance,
Builders of empire.
Landing on distant shores,
Marching rows of
Shackled souls into
Loathsome holds.
Obscene wealth
Accumulated on the
Scarred backs of
The unfortunate.
When given a choice, she embraced
The path that made her blood boil.
Lashing out instinctively, a fight for
Self-preservation in every exchange.
Days spent making enemies,
Cultivating discomfort.
Evenings spent pursuing an
Online connection, anybody.
Unable to escape the din,
Unwilling to turn it down.
I offer my heart, my vision, my passion.
The inside of my being exposed,
Vulnerable, yearning for validation, a
Scrap of hope, shred of approval, an
Outstretched helping hand. Please
See who I am, potential, promise.
Intangibles fall unrecognized
Before timorous eyes.
Each one more
Ordinary than
The other.
Competing for
Space, attention,
Recognition.
Hyperbole,
Embellishment,
Attempting to
Hide
Gaping holes.
It opens its wary green eye,
Suffusing the environs with a
Rotten, infirm cast of animosity and
Torment. It insecurely demands
Detail and explanation, stopping at
Nothing in its quest for answers.
Its vexation is a permanent parasite,
Leaching life out of all it penetrates.
She spends
Most of her time
Cleaning the house
And preparing food
For everyone else.
Once in a while
She’s permitted to
Go do the shopping
At the market and come
Straight back home.
Her brothers go off
To school each day,
She watches them
Longingly from
The window.
Sometime before she
Turns eighteen,
She will
Be promised to
A stranger.
It seems like just
The other day
You and I
Talked about things
Vast and light,
Playing off each other
As only those
Who are close do.
A familiar scene
Repeated with startling
Regularity.
One person,
Riddled with fear,
Discriminates against another.
The next step is to
Cry foul and insist the
Victim is the perpetrator.
Building a house of
Maudlin self-pity,
Pretending they’re persecuted.
Maiming others
With impunity by
Claiming self-defense.
He could get very
Angry about the situation
But chooses instead to
Wish the object of
His contempt well and
Move on with his life.
Sometimes, oftentimes,
It’s just better to
Let things go and
Heal the world in
Some small way.
Same hierarchy imposed,
People standing
In rancid cliques pretending
To feel comfortable
In their own skins.
Reliving past triumphs
And the rush that came
From disparaging others,
Walking by with a nose
In the air, punch on the arm.
Years later,
Glory days still fondly
Revisited by husks
Too broken to rewire
The obsolete mess.
Human suffering
Appears to have
Absolutely no impact
On him.
He doesn’t seem
To care at all whether
A child goes hungry
Or a mother falls ill.
No concept of
Fairness, equality,
Or trace of most
Basic compassion.
Nobody ever helped him,
Completely self-made,
At least that’s what
He tells others.
I tried to explain
Over and over but
He wouldn’t listen.
No matter how little
He really knew about
The situation,
He still heard
Only his own voice,
He always knows better.
He has to win
All the time,
Or everyone loses.
Tantrum after
Horrible tantrum
Erupting.
An ugly spectacle
Writhing on
The floor.
Their march will continue,
Until every single
Person believes exactly
What they believe and
Acts exactly as they
Want everyone to act,
And looks exactly like
They all look,
And believes in the
Same fabricated nonsense.
Then they will find
Something else to revile,
Some other group to exclude,
Another contrived target to
Denigrate and spew their
Wretched,
Unquenchable,
Unlimited,
Unreasonable
Hate upon.
A change blows in, barely perceived
Except to those who welcome these
Things. A murmur, a hint, a pinch of
Expectation, hope, elation.
Severity puts on its boots, stomps around
Sniffing the air askance.
Extravagant freshness, dewy possibility.
Expeditiously impress unacceptability on it,
Deny its existence, close the door on
Smiling visitor, well-intentioned.
Mindset of punishment
And retaliation, always
A message to be sent,
Incessant posturing,
Don’t show the chink
In the armor though
It can’t be missed in
All its withering
Insecurity, a single
Approach to everything.
He grew up in a cozy neighborhood
Within a bigger town.
His mind developed just enough to
Leave room to spare.
He reached great heights professionally,
Smaller inward gains.
At every pivotal moment a
Narrow voice promising certainty.
Glad-handing each
Other, a winking
Back-slapping herd
Plans its next
Assault on the
Defenseless.
Not a single
Compassionate
Dissenting voice
Beseeching to
Stop the
Carnage.
Going back to the place
Where he grew up and
Finding that it is not
The same as he remembers,
Dreams of recapturing his
Youth dashed in an instant of
Realization that things can
Never be as they were,
No matter how much he
Wishes them to be.
They assert
The world will
Always be the same,
Will never change,
That people will
Invariably be the way
They have always been.
Pessimistic myopia
Asserted by dreamless
Sorts who have been
Hurt at some point and
Cannot trust that
There is still abundant
Kindness in the world.
Insist you can’t
Make things better,
And you’ll perpetuate
The familiar suffering,
Believe you can
Change the world,
And you will.
There’s really not much to it,
Just keep them off-balance by
Scaring them to death and feeding
Them a steady diet of misinformation,
Keep their attention on something
Else while you steal everything
They’ve got behind their backs
As they blame the wrong entities
For their continuing misfortune.
Another day passes
Uneventfully as the
One before it.
Walking through the halls,
Smiling at only
The right people.
Forming the cliques
Required to establish
Power and position.
Practicing the stratagems
Necessary to secure
The circle of influence.
Predetermined steps
Up the ladder,
Preserving the club.
One step after another,
They walk together,
At least they used to.
Things are rather
Different now, but
Neither knows what to say.
Words without import,
One looks at the sky and
Says it might rain.
Being a curious person I couldn’t
Resist looking into the neglected building.
A lonely desk, papers strewn around,
Period pictures on the wall, dust
Coating everything, gradually muffling
All distinction and memory. My companion
Talked about the good old days when
Things were better, people were kinder,
Life seemed simpler. Everyone knew
His place, not this one.
The opportunity to
Show the world how
Compassion and community
Can elevate a nation.
Play nicely with monsters,
Pretend they’re not there
To destroy the place,
Profile in trepidation.
What might have been
Becomes what isn’t,
A wasted chance to
Do the right thing.
The sun sets on
Desperation unattended,
Leaving behind a sorry
Rotting carcass.
A bright light shines
On his embalmed face
As he promises the
Screaming throng of
Sycophants that he’ll
Destroy everything that
Provides safety and
Dignity to the destitute.
A roaring cheer explodes;
Finally, the prospect of
Putting the power back
Into the hands of those
Who least deserve it.
Teary eyes hoping for a
Better day for the chosen,
A far worse plight
For everyone else,
As it should be.